Elara's POV
Liora wraps my burned arm in bandages soaked with healing herbs.
You're lucky, she says, her voice clinical. Dragon fire usually burns straight through bone. Whatever made Mora hesitate saved your life.
Guilt, probably. I wince as she pulls the bandage tight. She didn't want to kill me. She just thought she had to.
Guilt doesn't excuse seven murders. Kaelen stands by the window, his back rigid. She deserves to rot in that dungeon.
I'm not arguing. The pain is fading already, replaced by a numb tingling. But we need information more than revenge.
Who says we can't have both? His voice is cold, distant. The warmth from earlier is gone, replaced by the Dragon King's icy control.
Liora finishes the bandage and steps back. Rest for an hour. The healing salve needs time to work. Then you can continue your training.
An hour? I stand up. We don't have time for
You'll pass out from pain if you don't rest, she interrupts firmly. An unconscious bride is a dead bride. Sit. Down.
I sit.
Kaelen finally turns from the window. I need to interrogate Mora. Find out everything she knows about the witch. His silver eyes meet mine. Will you be alright alone?
I survived this long without you.
Barely. But something flickers in his expression. Concern? Fear? It's gone before I can identify it. Sylas will stand guard outside. Don't leave this room.
He walks out before I can respond.
Liora gathers her supplies. He's scared.
He doesn't seem scared. He seems angry.
For him, they're the same thing. She pauses at the door. Seven brides dead. Seven failures. And now you the eighth nearly died on your first day. Can you imagine how that feels?
I think about watching someone I love die seven times. Forgetting their faces but remembering the failure.
Yeah, I whisper. I can.
She leaves me alone with my thoughts.
An hour. I'm supposed to rest for an hour.
I last ten minutes before the walls start closing in.
The room is too quiet. Too still. Every shadow looks like it's moving. Every sound might be an attack.
I need air. Space. Something other than these four walls.
Sylas is outside when I open the door.
You're supposed to be resting, he says without looking at me.
I'm supposed to be not dying. Fresh air helps with that. I step into the hallway. I'm going for a walk.
The king said
The king isn't my keeper. I start walking. You can come with me or you can explain to him why you let me wander alone. Your choice.
He mutters something that sounds like a curse, then follows. Where are you going?
I don't know. Somewhere outside. Somewhere I can think.
He leads me through passages I haven't seen before, down stairs that spiral deep into the mountain, finally emerging into a side courtyard I didn't know existed.
And I freeze.
It's a garden. Beautiful, actually, with night-blooming flowers that glow silver in the moonlight. A fountain in the center, water trickling peacefully.
But among the flowers are stones. Seven of them, arranged in a careful circle.
Graves.
I should've warned you, Sylas says quietly behind me.
I walk closer, my legs moving on their own.
The first stone is simple, elegant:
Elara MoonwhisperArrived: Spring, Year 412Departed: Spring, Year 413She loved poetry
One year. Exactly one year.
The second:
Elara BrightwoodArrived: Autumn, Year 415Departed: Autumn, Year 416She loved music
The third:
Elara StormbornArrived: Winter, Year 419Departed: Winter, Year 420She loved stargazing
My hands shake as I move to the fourth.
Elara RiversongArrived: Summer, Year 423Departed: Summer, Year 424She loved healing
Seven stones. Seven versions of me. Each with a different last name, different interests, different lives.
All dead after exactly one year.
The last one makes my breath catch:
Elara AshwoodArrived: Winter, Year 434Departed: Winter, Year 435She loved writing
Six months ago. The one who left the journal in the memorial room.
He tends them himself, Sylas says. Every day. Plants the flowers, cleans the stones. Won't let anyone else touch them.
Why? My voice cracks. If he doesn't remember them, why does he care?
Because forgetting makes it worse. He knows seven women died for him. He knows he failed them. But he can't remember their smiles, their voices, what made them laugh. Sylas moves to stand beside me. So he creates memories from what little he has left. The grave markers. The memorial items. It's all he has.
I kneel in front of Ashwood's grave my grave and touch the stone. It's warm, like someone recently held it.
What were they like? The seven me?
Sylas is quiet for a moment. Different. All different. Moonwhisper was shy, gentle. Brightwood was fierce, always challenging him. Stormborn was curious about everything. Riversong tried to heal him, thought love could break the curse. He pauses. Ashwood was sad. She knew from the beginning it wouldn't work, but she came anyway.
Why?
Because she loved him. In the previous life, before she died and forgot. Some part of her soul remembered, even when her mind didn't. He looks at me. Just like you.
I think about jumping out that window. About trusting Kaelen to catch me. About feeling like I knew him even though we'd never met.
I remember things I shouldn't, I admit. Flashes. Dreams. Sometimes I know things before anyone tells me.
That's the soul mark working. Each life, you remember a little more. By the eighth life... He doesn't finish.
By the eighth life, what?
You should remember everything. All seven previous lives. All seven deaths. His dragon eyes are somber. The witch is counting on that. When you remember how you died each time, the trauma could break your mind completely.
Horror creeps up my spine. When will I remember?
When the bond completes. Sixth day, usually. He points at my shoulder. The mark will burn, and everything will come flooding back.
Five more days until I relive seven deaths.
Five more days until I potentially go insane from the memories.
Can I stop it?
No. But you can prepare for it. He helps me stand. Come on. You've rested enough. Time to train harder.
I take one last look at the graves. Seven versions of myself, all lying in the ground.
I won't be the eighth.
I refuse.
We're walking back toward the castle when I see it a figure standing in the shadows near the far wall. Watching us.
Sylas, I whisper. Someone's there.
He tenses, eyes scanning. Where?
I point, but the figure is already gone.
I saw someone. I swear I did.
The witch's spies, probably. She has eyes everywhere. He pulls me closer to the castle. We need to get you inside. Now.
We're almost to the door when someone screams.
A servant's scream, high and terrified, coming from inside the castle.
Sylas curses and runs toward the sound. I follow, my heart pounding.
We find the servant in the east wing hallway, collapsed against the wall, sobbing.
What happened? Sylas demands.
She points with a shaking hand toward a door. In there. I went to clean and
Sylas throws open the door.
Inside is a bedroom. Normal, unremarkable.
Except for the body hanging from the ceiling.
A woman in servant's clothes, a rope around her neck, eyes vacant.
Dead.
No, I breathe. No, no, no.
Sylas cuts her down quickly, but it's too late. She's been dead for hours, her body already cold.
Who is she? I ask.
Kira. One of the castle maids. He examines the rope. This wasn't suicide. Look the rope burns are wrong. She was strangled first, then hung to make it look self-inflicted.
The witch?
Or her spies. He stands. She's sending a message. 'I can reach anyone in this castle. No one is safe.'
The sobbing servant looks up at us with terrified eyes. We're all going to die, aren't we? The curse is back. The castle is cursed again.
There's no curse, Sylas says firmly. Just a murderer. And we're going to catch her.
But the servant doesn't look convinced.
Neither am I.
We've caught Mora, but the witch is escalating. Killing randomly now, spreading fear.
We need to tell Kaelen, I say.
Sylas nods. Go. I'll handle the body and calm the servants. Find the king. He's probably still in the dungeons.
I run through the castle, my burned arm throbbing with each step.
The dungeons are deep underground, past guards who let me through without question. They must know who I am by now. The eighth bride. The girl who keeps coming back to die.
I find Kaelen in front of Mora's cell. She sits on a stone bench inside, her face blank.
Kaelen, I gasp. We have a problem.
He turns, sees my expression. What happened?
Another murder. A servant. Made to look like suicide. I catch my breath. The witch is inside the castle. She's already here.
His face goes dark. When?
We just found the body. Hours old, maybe.
He turns back to Mora. You heard that? Your witch friend is killing innocents now. Servants who have nothing to do with this.
Mora doesn't react. Just stares at the wall.
Tell me how to find her, Kaelen demands. Tell me where she's hiding.
Nothing.
Your daughter is dead because of her. She lied to you. Used your grief. And now she's killing more people. His voice rises. Help us stop her!
Still nothing.
I step closer to the bars. Mora. Please. I know you loved Celeste. I know you'd do anything to bring her back. But this isn't the way.
Finally, she looks at me. Her eyes are empty, hollow. It doesn't matter anymore. The ritual is almost complete.
What do you mean?
A terrible smile crosses her face. Eight souls. But they don't all have to be brides.
My blood turns to ice. What did you do?
I already gave her three. Mora's smile widens. Three servants, killed over the past month. Their souls harvested and stored. The witch only needs five more. And she's taking them tonight.
Tonight? Kaelen grabs the bars. Where? Where is she?
In the place where magic is strongest. Where the veil between life and death is thinnest. Mora starts laughing, a broken, horrible sound. In the memorial room. She's using the past brides' items to anchor the spell. And once she has eight souls, she'll become immortal. Nothing will stop her.
Kaelen's already running before she finishes speaking.
I chase after him, my legs burning with effort.
The memorial room, I gasp. Sylas showed me earlier. East wing
I know where it is. He's shifting as he runs, scales rippling across his skin. If the witch is using those items, she's not just stealing souls. She's destroying the only memories I have left of them.
We burst into the east wing.
The memorial room door is wide open, chains broken and scattered.
Inside, the seven items float in a circle, glowing with sickly green light. And in the center stands a woman.
She's beautiful and terrible at once. Long silver hair, eyes that glow purple, wearing a dress made of shadows.
The witch. Veyra.
She turns and smiles when she sees us.
Kaelen. My love. It's been so long.
You're supposed to be dead, he snarls.
Death is such a relative term. She gestures to the floating items. I've been very patient. Three hundred years of planning. Eight lifetimes of preparation. And now, finally, the eighth soul walks right into my trap.
She looks at me, and her smile grows wider.
Hello, Elara. I've been waiting for you.
She snaps her fingers.
The door slams shut behind us. The walls glow with purple runesa barrier trap.
We're sealed inside.
You see, Veyra continues conversationally, Mora was useful, but ultimately disposable. I needed someone to kill the brides at exactly the right time, before the bond completed. But now I don't need to wait anymore. She raises her hand, and magic crackles around her fingers. Because the eighth bride is special. The eighth bride carries all seven previous souls inside her. Kill her, and I get all eight at once.
You can't, I whisper. The souls are separate. They reincarnated
Into you. Again and again. Each time adding to your soul's power. She steps closer. You're not eight different people, child. You're one soul that's lived eight times. And when I take you, I take everything.
Kaelen moves between us, fully dragon now. You'll have to go through me.
Oh, Kaelen. Veyra's voice is soft, almost loving. I already have.
She gestures, and Kaelen freezes. His eyes go wide with shock.
What
Did you really think I'd let you interfere? She walks toward him, trailing one finger down his scaled chest. I put a spell on you three hundred years ago. A failsafe, in case you ever got too close to the truth. With one word from me, you become paralyzed. Helpless.
No. No, no, no.
Let him go! I shout.
Why would I do that? She looks at me over her shoulder. He's going to watch. Watch as I kill you. Watch as I absorb your soul. Watch as I become immortal. And then She smiles cruelly. then I'll kill him too. Because I don't need him anymore.
She raises her hand toward me, magic gathering in a swirling ball of purple fire.
Any last words, little bride?
I look at Kaelen, frozen and helpless.
Look at the seven items floating in the circle, representing seven versions of me who already died.
Look at my dragon mark, burning on my shoulder.
Five days left on the countdown.
But I won't last five more minutes.
The witch's magic grows brighter, ready to strike.
And then I feel it a warmth spreading from my mark, through my chest, into my entire body.
The bond.
It's not complete yet, but it's close enough.
Close enough to share power.
I close my eyes and reach for Kaelen through the connection I don't fully understand.
Help me, I think desperately. I can't do this alone.
His voice echoes in my mind, strong and sure: You're not alone. You've never been alone. Take my power. All of it. Break the spell.
I open my eyes.
My hands are glowing silver.
Veyra's smile falters. That's impossible. The bond isn't complete
Guess I'm special, I say.
And I unleash dragon fire for the first time in my life.
The purple magic and silver fire collide in an explosion that shatters the memorial room's windows and blows Veyra backward into the wall.
The paralysis spell on Kaelen breaks.
He roars and launches at Veyra, claws extended.
But she's already gone, dissolving into shadow.
Her voice echoes through the room: Clever girl. But this isn't over. I'll have your soul, Elara. One way or another. And when I do, everyone you love dies with you.
Then silence.
Kaelen shifts back to human form, breathing hard. Are you hurt?
No. I don't think so. I stare at my hands, still glowing faintly. I used your power.
Our power, he corrects. The bond's forming faster than it should. Probably because of the soul mark. He pulls me into his arms suddenly, holding me tight. You could've died.
But I didn't.
This time. His voice is rough. She'll come back. Stronger. And next time, we might not be so lucky.
I pull back to look at him. Then we need to be ready. No more secrets, no more holding back. Tell me everything about this curse, about Veyra, about what really happened three hundred years ago.
He studies my face for a long moment.
Alright, he finally says. But you're not going to like it.
I haven't liked anything since I got here. Try me.
He leads me out of the destroyed memorial room, down hallways to his private study.
Closes the door. Locks it. Sets magical wards.
Then he turns to face me, his silver eyes full of three centuries of pain.
Veyra was telling the truth about one thing, he says quietly. She was my first love. And I'm the reason she became a monster.